


When Geese walk

by SmolSilverFox



Category: Gloryhammer (Band)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:41:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22466578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmolSilverFox/pseuds/SmolSilverFox
Summary: The dark emperor Zargothrax is annoyed. Being supreme lord of a country isn't as fun as he thought it would be, and for some reason, his palace is freezing cold. Dreadlord Proletius only wants to report a success, but it doesn't go as planned...
Comments: 3
Kudos: 7
Collections: Written in Galactic Stardust





	When Geese walk

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyTroll](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyTroll/gifts).



> Written for a writing prompt challenge on tumblr.   
> Partially inspired by DarkMetalLady and LadyTroll's oneshots, though it ended up far more humoristic than I originally intended.

The room was entirely silent, only the clicking of nails on crystal being heard.

Zargothrax was annoyed.

VERY annoyed.

But evaporating a few goblins had not helped his mood in the slightest. Neither had the drink he'd summoned for himself nor the fuzzy socks that at least solved the issue of having cold feet. Or just take a hot bath. Really, he'd thought updating the heating system with some magic should have solved the problem, and the air _was_ warm. Somehow though, it didn't help.

A shudder ran through him, and he flicked his fingers to heat up the air around him a little more.

For some reason, he thought about a story he'd heard many centuries ago, as a child that had not yet discovered the grand gift bestowed upon it.

When you shuddered out of nowhere, a goose just walked over your grave.

He'd have goose tonight, he decided. With sweet gravy and potatoes, because even a dark emperor knew the value of tasty potatoes. At least they didn't ask dumb questions or made your feet cold randomly.

But first, business, which was the reason for his ill humor in the first place.

When he proclaimed himself emperor of Dundee, he had not realized how much WORK that meant. He couldn't just vanish for days into some ritual that left him satisfied, but exhausted, because when he inevitably came back, work had piled up even more than it already did.

Sure, the audiences were fun. People were scared of him and revered him, which was what he'd always wanted, but if he simply slaughtered everyone who annoyed him once, there would soon be nobody left to rule over, which was why he'd abstained from giving that order for weeks now.

Which didn't improve his mood.

So when the doors opened, he was about ready to let go of his resolution and just zap the being that dared interrupt his sulking, until he saw that it was Dreadlord Proletius.

The only person he could NOT take his mood out on, because the knight was far too valuable an asset to be killed.

Well, not _killed_ killed, he was already dead, but Zargothrax was not about to split hairs.   
Speaking of hair, he should maybe clip his a bit, there was this ONE curl that he could not tame even with magic.

"My lord?"

Zargothrax jumped, having been so caught up in his thoughts he hadn't noticed the deathknight come close enough to pretty much touch him.

"What?!"

"We... finished your task." Ser Proletius looked nervous. All people did when they stood before Zargothrax crystalline throne, as they should, but his force's commander usually didn't seem _that_ anxious. That could only mean something was up.

"Which task?", Zargothrax asked, both to test the dreadlord.... and also because he couldn't remember. He had a lot on his plate, little of which was edible.

Proletius looked at him like a deer that had just spotted an eagle diving for it. "....we... conquered Edinburgh? ...my lord?", he added when Zargothrax didn't answer.  
The sorcerer let the shadows covering his eyes work to his advantage as he thought hard if, and when, he'd ordered this particular operation.

Proletius cleared his throat, wincing as something popped in there, reminding him to renew the spells that kept his body from falling apart bit by bit. The battle had taken a bigger toll than he'd feared, the winding, narrow streets not ideal for an attack from the sky.

"We also uh, slaughtered some peasant in Auchtermuchty, Lord Zargothrax."

Zargothrax blinked at him. Then his eyes narrowed, their usually muted glow turning to blazing crimson.

"I did not ask you to do that, did I now?"

Proletius involuntarily took a step back. And a few more as Zargothrax got up, descending the stairs leading up to his throne of polished onyx.

"In fact, as I recall," the dark emperor went on, "I remember specifically saying that Auchtermuchty should be left alone, for now."

"No, I'm pretty sure-" Proletius fell silent, with horror realizing that  _arguing_ with Zargothrax was not something one did if they wanted to live without pain. 

"What was that?"

"Nothing, Lord Zargothrax," Proletius replied as calmly as he could. "My apologies, I must have mixed something up-"

He staggered as lights exploded in front of his face. He felt his armoured hand hit something as he fell, perhaps one of the pillars, before his back hit the floor with a clatter of armour. His head followed soon after, responding with a flash of pain and nausea that lasted for what felt like minutes.   
When he got up, groaning quietly, he expected Zargothrax to stand over him, ready to hit him again or make him falter with a kick. It wouldn't be the first time the dark emperor had taken out his anger on him, and it wasn't as if Proletius could do much about it.

But instead, his eyes met those of his superior, who looked exactly as shocked as Proletius was.   
His hood had fallen back, revealing smooth brown hair, and blood dripping from his lip.

He was also sitting on the floor with his robe having tangled itself in his legs, revealing what looked suspiciously like tight leggings sporting the black and white pattern of a piano keyboard under thick woolen socks in the ugliest green and purple pattern Ser Proletius had ever seen.

Zargothrax wiped his face, blinking down at the red spots on his glove as if he had never seen either blood, nor a hand, ever before.

".....Are you alright, my Lord?", Proletius asked carefully.

They sat in a poor of water, the moisture of the nigh tropical air in the room having accumulated on the stones. He'd already wondered why it was so warm in here.

Zargothrax must have slipped while being too concentrated on scaring the pants off his force's commander.

The sorcerer got to his feet, staggering slightly until he could disentangle his legs from his red robe, pulling up his hood and generally trying to recover his dignity. The fact that his black cloak and the entire back of his robe were dripping wet did not help.

"My Lord, the messengers from London are he-" The goblin went up in flame and was reduced to ash.  
"No more meetings," Zargothrax ordered. "Get someone to bring me dinner. Goose, with gravy and potatoes. And it better be good." With that, he turned on his heel – Proletius pointedlyoverlooking the flash of magic as Zargothrax saved himself from another fall on the slippery floor – and strode past the throne to his private chambers. If the cloak hadn't been soaked, it would have made for a wonderful dramatic exit. Like this, it only dragged after him like a sad cleaning rag.

Dreadlord Proletius turned as he heard the door open. His second-in-command blinked at him.

"Um... any orders?"

Proletius only shrugged. They exited the throne room, making their way down a ridiculously long corridor to leave the pyramid, which entailed another ridiculously long  _staircase.  
_ At this rate, he thought, training the eagles to snatch them from the entrance and climb on their back in flight became more and more attractive. 

But all in all, it could have been worse. He could have gotten his ass beaten again.

Or another monologue.

"By the way, where do we keep our geese?"


End file.
